Fat Chance

Nah, I'm just EXTREMELY out of shape

"Hut-Two Ladies! C'mon, Hustle!"

Sweat dripped down my back as I ran around the schools sorry excuse for a gym. First hour was the best hour to have gym because it was specially designed for even the most mentally crippled and disabled student to be able to handle. So naturally those are the kind of students who got assigned to this hour. Most of the kids are in wheel chairs, some of them had vision or hearing problems.

But only 3 of us had no issues whatsoever. And we were the ones who had to run laps.

Mr. Rickard, our gym teacher, despised slackers or people who tried to do the bare minimum on their work. And, unfortunately, he thought we all CHOSE to be put in with the disabled kids for gym.

I don't know about the other two, but I sure as hell didn't chose to be here. I was placed here because no one wanted the fat kid dying from running the mile. But Mr. Rickard doesn't listen to me.

"You all are lucky to be able bodied but yet you still have the nerve to walk in here expecting special treatment. I think not!" he bellowed.

Tall, dark skinned, and majorly physically fit, Mr. Rickard is the kind of guy you would look at and instantly not want to mess with. Even at the age of 45, he was still in better shape then most 21 year olds. His face always looked cruel, either a smirk or a frown set upon his lips. He always looked like he was on the verge of plotting some huge evil plan.

Sweat continued to pour down my face as I ran the last lap of the 5 us "normal" kids had to do. My breathing became shallow and black dots started to cloud my vision. Man do I love being fat and out of shape.

After a few more strides, I couldn't take it anymore; I had to slow down and rest. I didn't care how much Mr. Rickard yelled at me.

My heart continued to thunder in my chest even after I had come to a complete stop. I inhaled air like a fish out of water. If I hadn't been so extremely obese, people would have probably thought I was dying.

But nah. I'm just EXTREMELY out of shape.

After class ends, I head to the locker room to change. One super amazing thing about first period gym is that the changing room is no longer a stressful situation. 90 percent of the class is guys, so that leaves only a handful of chicks left to change in the locker room, 2 of them being blind and the other one severally ADHD. Even with no one looking at me, I still chose to change in a shower stall.

The showers in the girls locker room were barely ever used, since most of us aren't going to be exercising and sweating to the point of having to take a shower to remove our stench. But on many occasions I really am tempted to take a shower. My sweat often drenched me so much that it looked like I had just come in from a rain storm, and today was no exception. In the end, my laziness got the better of me and it was all I could to do change out of my shorts and into my jeggings without falling over.

I sprint out of the locker room, my unzipped backpack hanging from my shoulder, trying to not be late to English again.

English was probably my least favorite class this year. Yes, it even beats out P.E.

I've never really been good at reading or writing; it's just not my thing, not like pottery or music is. But I've never been HORRIBLE at it. I do the work I'm told to do, I read what I'm supposed to read, write what I'm supposed to write. Learned all the coordinating conjunctions and fixed all the run on sentences and read all the novels on the summer reading list.

But I never really enjoyed it, never really got excited to open a book or pull out a journal. I mean, nothings wrong with liking those things; Stella LOVES English, and so did a lot of my old friends. It's just not my favorite.

Especially now that I have an English teacher who hates my guts.

I rushed in the door and sat at my desk 3 seconds before the bell rang. Our teacher, Ms. Coleowski, glared at me as I pulled my books from my backpack. I looked up and smiled at her, hoping to get a nice reaction back.

No such luck.

She sneered at me and turned to face the rest of the class. "Today we're going to be starting our journaling unit. You'll be writing at least once a day, everyday until the Monday of the last week of school. I will then read through your journals and grade them."

I inwardly groaned. I hated the idea of anyone reading my personal thoughts, let alone Ms. Coleowski.

If you can't picture her, just imagine a 60 something year old woman, unmarried, lots of cats, lots of hatred, with long grey hair always pulled up in a bun who wears black slacks and a black blouse with black shoes everyday. That's Ms. Coleowski. And she's been teaching High School Students since the dinosaur era.

No wonder she's so dried out.

"The journals will be provided for you," she continued. "They're just regular notebooks, stacked over there on the table. You'll began by writing a page long intro that tells me about yourself. Try and make it unique, list some facts no one knows about you"

That lady is delusional if she thinks I'm sharing anyone unknown facts about myself with HER.

After she was done with her speech, Ms. Coleowski gave us the okay to go pick out a journal.

I waited until the mob died down; last thing I wanted was to get trampled by some hyper-active child.

When everyone had already had their pick, I walked up to the table and chose the only notebook left. It was a plain black and white patterned binded notebook.

The first thing I did with my notebook was write my first and last name on the inside cover in the upper lefthand corner. Then I started on my little "about me" section.

About Me

Name: Quinn Chewbacca (don't you dare laugh, my drunkard uncle picked it out) Simpson (again, don't laugh)

Age: 15

Birthday: October 18th, 2000

Grade: 9th, unfortunately

Hobbies: sleep, watch YouTube, stuff my face with food, stalk Rihanna, watch YouTube videos and catfish (don't ask)

Hair color: Originally strawberry blonde, now Black

Eye color: Green

Place of existence: Brokesville, Ohio

The bell rang before I could decide what more to write. I slipped my notebook into my backpack and slid out into the mush of students.